BRADENTON, FLA. - Doyle and I drove from Harrison to
southwest Florida Thursday and Friday, on what my priest friend from
Mississippi calls a Pilgrimage of Love, to see my mother, who is
suddenly desperately sick again.
Driving from the Ozarks to the subtropics
was like time traveling through the various phases of springtime and
into early summer. I distracted myself from my worry about Mama by
soaking in the scenery as we traveled.
When we headed down Highway 65 South Thursday
afternoon, we were driving through early spring. The
just-barely-greening woods were needlepointed with lavender redbud in
rich bloom, with the lacy white blossoms of sarvis trees shyly peeking
through here and there. Vivid bursts of yellow forsythia were
spraypainted in yards throughout the Ozarks, often accented by nearby
deep pink Japanese quince bushes, and the white spirea that dotted the
hillsides near old farmhouses.
My heart sank a little when we left our beautiful old
hills behind, just as they're bursting out into their spring finery.
I'm always a little sad to leave.
We drove on through Little Rock and Pine Bluff, and
passed through poor, tornado-blasted Dumas after sunset. After crossing
the rickety old Mississippi River bridge at Greenville, we stopped for
the night in Greenwood, in the heart of the Mississippi Delta.
Driving through the Delta on Highway 82 in the
bright sunshine Friday morning, we were able to see the springtime was
more advanced here in the warmer flatlands. Fields were plowed, ready
for cotton planting time. Dogwoods were glowing with white blossoms,
and more fruit trees were in full bloom, pinks and purples and whites.
A wonderful highlight of our trip south was an hour
spent in the Waffle House in Starkville, having breakfast with my older
son, Alex, whom I hadn't seen since last fall. I don't guess there's
anything that a mother loves more than sitting next to her child and
hearing him talk about his life. I couldn't stop patting his arm as he
drank his coffee and ate his steak and eggs.
From Starkville, we drove past my old college town of
Columbus and crossed the border into Alabama, going through Tuscaloosa
and then down to Montgomery. Springtime was down to serious business in
the Heart of Dixie, where we saw our first purple wisteria blossoms
hanging down like bunches of flowery grapes from the trees. And then,
just north of Montgomery, we were delighted to spot the fuchsia azaleas
splashed around stately Southern homes.
The farther south we drove, the greener the woods
became. In northern Florida, we turned off Interstate 10 onto I-75 just
as night fell, and drove on through the warm, soft Florida night until
we arrived at my sister Re's house about 10.
Friday morning, we woke up to find ourselves in full
summer, with bright sunshine, green yards, and flowers that never stop
blooming - hibiscus, jasmine, bougainvillea, lantana, , oleander.
Once again, I've come to this Land of Perpetual
Summer to my very sick little mother's bedside, praying that I'd get
here in time to see her one more time before she crossed the River. And
once again, our tough little steel magnolia is hanging on to life with
tooth and nail.
I had gotten a call last Monday from my sisters
here, telling me that our Mama was in intensive care, on a respirator,
battling a sudden and severe case of pneumonia.
I'm not sure if my mother knows I'm here, but it
makes me feel better to be able to stand by her bedside for a few
minutes, to kiss her forehead, to hold her hand, to smooth her hair
back from her face, to whisper a prayer. Her eyes are closed, but when we talk to her, her
heart rate and respiration numbers, in bright colors on the monitor, go
up, and we think she is aware we're there, and is wanting to talk to
us, but it's just exhausting to her to try to be roused from this
sleeping world she's in, so we let her rest.
We were gratefully surprised today to find Sunday,
when we arrived at the hospital at noon, that they've already
removed Mama's respirator, and that she's hanging in there, so far,
without it. She's still pretty much unconscious, but she's breathing on
her own, and showing some improvement.
Last night, we were overjoyed to hear the nurse's
report that Mama had responded to a couple of questions with a word or
two in a tiny whisper.
Like glowing Ozarks dogwoods, the hope of springtime blooms brightly in our hearts.
By Celia DeWoody
Copyright CPI, Inc. 2007
Published March 26, 2007, Harrison Daily Times, Harrison, Ark.
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